No One Says Sorry Like Gaston
by lindsey and marie enterprises
Summary: When Gaston fell, he didn't die right off. Lying where he landed, his memories return, and begins reexamining his actions toward the Beast and his fellow villagers, particularly the young woman he wanted to marry. By Lindsey


Pain was no stranger to Gaston. He'd been a soldier, a Captain. He'd fought in many battles and watched men fall around him. He'd been wounded many times before, but he recovered. Gaston always recovered.

He knew he would not be recovering from this. The fall had been too high, the ground too hard. The fact that he had not died instantly was a miracle in itself—or at least, it would have been, if it didn't hurt so blasted much. Still, Gaston had one comfort: he had disposed of that wretched, woman-stealing Beast.

The sun was coming up. Gaston's eyes were closed, but he could feel the warmth on his skin, and he saw the growing light behind his eyelids. All of a sudden, the cold snow beneath his broken body was gone. Not melted, disappeared, like it had never been there in the first place. And as the light grew brighter, memories came flooding back into his brain.

Pure horror gripped him as he was hit with a piercing clarity: the Beast he had murdered and the Prince he had sworn his service to in the war were, in fact, one and the same. The realization of this one detail had Gaston questioning every action he'd taken over the last few months. He saw his treatment of Belle in a new light, particularly when he'd tried to blackmail her into marrying him. Had the loss of his memories twisted him, or was this really the kind of man he was?

Gaston chose not to think about it. He had other things to ponder, in what little time was left to him. LeFou's face appeared in his mind's eye. Good old LeFou, his best friend and brother-in-arms. Afraid of Gaston like the rest of the village, yet the only one besides Belle and Maurice who had ever tried to tell him no. LeFou had attempted to steer him on the right path, and how had he treated him in return? Like cannon fodder. The thought made bile rise Gaston's throat. He was no better than those jumped-up, poncy officers he'd despised in the war.

As Gaston examined more of his memories, he felt tears leak out from behind his closed eyelids. He didn't bother to try and wipe them away; what was the point of trying to be strong when you were dying? Besides, he doubted he had the strength to lift his arm, anyway.

His breathing hitched, and for a few brief moments, he couldn't make himself inhale. Gaston thought that was the end, but he managed to start up again with some short, shallow breaths. God, it hurt. Breathing hurt. Lying still hurt. Every part of his body hurt.

Wallowing in his pain and misery, Gaston almost missed the soft, cautious footsteps slowly approaching him. For a moment, he wondered if LeFou had come for him. But no, LeFou had been in the castle when he fell, and after what Gaston had done earlier, he probably wouldn't have come, anyway. Another villager, perhaps, who had gotten lost and stumbled across him on their mad dash from the castle?

The steps halted a few feet from him. Despite how heavy his eyelids felt, Gaston's curiosity got the better of him. Slowly, he forced them open so he could look upon the one who had found him.

He wished he had left his eyes closed. Standing over him, her features morphed into shock and…pity?...was Belle.

Belle dropped to her knees beside him, taking one of his hands ever so gently. "Gaston, oh my God!" she exclaimed. "I thought you were dead!"

Strangely, she didn't seem disappointed at being proven wrong. Why was that? Why was she showing him, of all people, compassion? Why was she being so kind?

Gaston's lips twitched, wanting to smile. Of course. Because she was Belle, and Belle was compassionate. Belle was sweet. Belle was kind.

She carefully smoothed a lock of hair away from his forehead. "Hold on, Gaston. I'm going to go get help." She moved to get up. No, Gaston couldn't allow that. If she left, he'd never get another chance. Summoning what little strength he had left, Gaston tightened his grip on her hand. It wasn't much, but it was enough for her to feel, and to know he wanted her to stay.

"B…elle," he gasped out, his voice a choked whisper. In response, Belle settled herself back on the ground. One hand still held tight to Gaston's, and the other rested soothingly on his cheek. This woman amazed him—he had murdered the one she loved, and yet she was comforting him.

Gaston made a swallowing motion, clearing the blood out of his throat. "S-s…sorry," Gaston forced out. "So…sor-ry."

"Hush, now," Belle murmured, her thumb rubbing circles on the back of his hand. "It's all right. I forgive you." A small smile touched her face. "The Beast…the Prince is fine. He's alive."

Despite the crushing feeling of his broken ribs, Gaston felt an enormous weight lift from him. He had failed, then. Never before had he been so happy to fail. He sighed in relief, but the act caused him to break into a series of weak, wet coughs. Belle just held his hand, providing what little comfort to him she could.

When it subsided, Gaston managed a weak smile. "I…really d-did…lo-ove…you," he said quietly. He squeezed her hand lightly once more.

That was when Belle did something completely unexpected. She took a steadying breath and leaned down, her brunette waves falling into a curtain around her face. Gaston caught a glimpse of her closed eyes before he felt soft, silken lips pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.

As Belle straightened, Gaston's vision grew dark. Time was up, then. It was time to leave. He sucked in one final breath, determined to give Belle his last request. She bent close to listen to his words, which were as quiet as the softest breeze.

"Be happy."


End file.
